Black T-shirt. Blue jeans. Laced up black All-stars.
Check.
Peek out to see the sun break through. No rain today.
Check.
Walk down five flights of stairs.
Check.
I’m in the mix. People pass by the front door. They look as I exit.
I know what they think…that guy, that guy lives there?
Haha. It’s ok. I’m used to it.
I wonder about them as much as they wonder about me. It’s fair.
Stepping out, I exit my sanctuary. I brush through the citizens as one of them now.
I feel their rush, absorb their energy, their curiosity, their doubt, their pleasures.
Which one shall I write about today?
The young student lovers gently, secretly touching fingertips on the metro?
The silver haired grandmother with her sweet granddaughter waving her tiny hands at me?
The sad looking domestic worker overloaded with heaving bags of groceries and fresh produce?
The overly anxious businessman in his ill fitting suit stressing over a slew of text messages?
They all intrigue me.
The simple, yet complex lives of these people. They all make for rich, meaningful stories. They all matter, equally.
Equally.
For me, for this city, they are this city.
This is Hong Kong.